by Shana Galen
“That suits you better. You look too matronly with your hair wound on top of your head.”
There were more flattering styles, but one needed a hair dresser to achieve those, and before he’d come, Julia hadn’t cared what her hair looked like as long as it was out of her way.
“I am the matron of this house, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t allow me to forget that point. And as such, you cannot interview these ladies with your hair undone. You need…something…” He tapped his finger on his lips. “Ah!”
This time, she swatted his hand away when he reached for her bosom. “What are you about, sir?”
He caught her hand and smiled at her. It was a rogue’s smile if she’d ever seen one. She knew she should not have trusted him.
“Not what you are thinking, though you seem to have found a way to make even drab gray look enticing.”
She looked down at her muted dress, a dress she had put on without much thought this morning. “What do you—”
He reached for the bodice again, but when she would have slapped him away, he murmured, “Trust me.”
Those were exactly the words that should have sounded the alarm in her head and her heart. Instead, she stood completely still while his fingers caught hold of the dark-blue ribbon adorning the dress’s bodice. The bodice did not have a particularly low neck, but it was a dress suitable for multiple occasions. As it was morning, and she was supposed to be the head of the orphanage, she had tucked a thin, gauzy fichu in the bodice to cover the modest flesh exposed by the rounded style. Wraxall’s fingers crushed the flimsy material as he pulled the ribbon from its bow and gently tugged it free from its moorings.
Julia could not have breathed if she’d wanted to. His fingers, though not straying from their task, burned her flesh wherever they touched. The feel of the ribbon being pulled free made Julia all the more aware that Wraxall might move his hand but a tiny fraction and he would be cupping her breast. She found, inexplicably, that she wanted to feel his hands on her. And the more she imagined his hands on her, the heavier her breasts felt and the more her nipples hardened until the peaks strained against the light fabric of her chemise.
She gulped in a deep breath, feeling much like a fish that’s been tossed on land. Horrified, she couldn’t help but notice that when she breathed in, the tops of her breasts rose from the dress’s bodice and encountered Wraxall’s warm fingers. A gentleman would have pulled his hand away. Wraxall didn’t move any part of himself, except for his eyes, which lifted from their focus on the ribbon to meet her gaze.
Those eyes, usually so blue and clear, were the color of a stormy sea. Heat seemed to burn off the man, radiating in waves and washing over her. He nodded slightly, and Julia felt as though some agreement had been made between the two of them, some promise that would be honored later. She did not know precisely what it might be, but her body seemed to understand it. Her body swayed closer to him even as her mind cautioned her to flee.
She might have run back up the steps too if he hadn’t put his arms around her. They didn’t go around her exactly, but he reached behind her, gathering her hair into a long tail. Her whole body came alive as little frissons of pleasure trailed from her scalp to her neck and all the way to her toes. He looped the ribbon about her hair and tied it into a bow. Then slowly—far more slowly than necessary—he stepped back and away from her.
She still could not catch her breath, and she knew her chest rose and fell as she gulped in air. His eyes assessed her, initially inspecting his handiwork but then drifting to the motion of her chest and then to the folds of her skirts where her legs formed a vee. Oh yes. She was warm there too. Moisture had gathered and with it a ripple of awareness. But he couldn’t know what she felt at the juncture of her thighs.
Could he?
“You had better go in now.”
She nodded. And stood motionless. In one smooth movement, Wraxall pushed the door to the kitchen open and extended an arm in invitation. Julia closed her eyes to clear her head, then marched through the kitchen to the vestibule, smiling broadly at the potential cooks waiting for her.
* * *
After Neil had moved Lady Juliana’s applicants to the entryway, he corralled the orphans upstairs. There was no point in scaring the cooks away before they’d even interviewed. He’d planned to repair the roof today, but a steady drizzle interspersed with heavier deluges thwarted his plans. Perhaps that was for the best. He was so weary he would probably fall off the roof if he attempted to repair it. One of these nights, he would have to sleep. And at some point, he hoped he would be able to go home. He’d sent for clean clothing and washed in the servants’ quarters, so at least he was clean and properly attired. He’d also managed to waylay Goring, who had returned this morning with a story of a sick relative. Neil intended to keep the manservant close and Slag uninformed.
When he had all the children gathered in the older boys’ room, Neil issued his orders. “We can’t work on the roof this morning and you still have no teacher for lessons—”
A resounding shout drowned him out. Neil ignored it. He raised one hand, and the din quieted. “So we will make use of our time by cleaning your quarters.”
“Boo!” was the response.
Neil crossed his arms over his chest. “Gentlemen, when I want your opinion, I will give it to you. In the meantime, strip the beds, push all the furniture to one corner, get the broom, find a mop and bucket, and start cleaning.” He turned to the four younger boys. “Mr. Goring will help you.”
Goring frowned. “I ain’t a maid, sir.”
“You are today, Goring. Be thankful you don’t have to do it all on your own.”
The four younger boys scampered off, full of excitement, and Neil turned back to the chaos in the older boys’ dormitory. Before he knew what had happened, the red-haired boy pushed a box into his arms. “You’d better hold on to these, Major, or they’re likely to get free.”
Neil looked down at the three rats, who blinked up at him. He took a deep breath. He’d never cared much for rats. He’d encountered them plenty of times on missions when he’d had to camp in dark cellars or fetid alleys. These rats were certainly cleaner and tamer. One of them rose up on its hind legs and sniffed at him with its little, pink nose. Neil didn’t shudder, but he wouldn’t go so far as to call the creature cute.
He resolved to build a proper cage for the little beasts, but until then, he took the box and placed it inside Lady Juliana’s room. He made a point not to look around, not to imagine her in that silk nightgown he’d seen snatches of last night.
Leaving the rats, he returned to the dormitory in time to see the tall boy who kept to himself shove something under his mattress. “You.” Neil pointed.
“That’s Billy,” Michael told him. “He’s eleven.”
Neil had already learned that Michael enjoyed numbers. He counted everything he could.
“What do you have there, Billy?” Neil made his way over.
Billy didn’t look him in the eye. “Nothing, Major.”
“What did you hide under the mattress?”
Billy’s dark eyes rose and settled on Neil’s face. Billy had a maturity beyond his years, and Neil knew that before he’d come to the orphanage, Billy had seen plenty on the streets of London.
“Let’s see,” Neil said.
Still looking at Neil, Billy lifted the mattress. Underneath, six kitchen knives gleamed. Immediately, the other boys in the chamber found themselves engrossed with other tasks.
“That’s quite a collection,” Neil remarked. “What do you need the weapons for?”
“Defense.”
Neil looked about the room. “Against these lads? You’re bigger than all of them. It seems to me if you had trouble, you could use your fists.”
“I’m not worried about these lads.”
Neil n
odded. “Then who?”
Billy shrugged. “If there’s any trouble, I like to be ready.”
“I’m here,” Neil said. “If there’s any trouble, I’ll handle it.”
Billy nodded. “How long are you here?”
It was a good question. It was a question Neil continued to ask himself. He’d intended to be here a few hours. Then one night. Now, he’d been here two nights, and those would undoubtedly turn into three. But he didn’t plan to stay after that. He didn’t want to run an orphanage. He’d deal with Slag, see Lady Juliana safely home, then say his goodbyes.
That would be little consolation to Billy, though. A new thug would move into Slag’s place or a thief desperate enough would find a way to break into the orphanage, and the boys and Lady Juliana would have no one to defend them. No wonder Billy wanted the knives.
Neil held out his hand. “Before I go, we’ll find a way for you to defend yourself, if there’s still a need. In the meantime, the new cook will want these.”
Billy scooped the knives up in one large fist and handed them over. Neil nodded. “I have Walter’s knife.” He looked at the room of boys who were still pretending not to listen. “Who else has a knife or a weapon? Turn them over now. If I find them during my inspection later, you won’t like the consequences.”
By the end of the hour, Neil had collected three more knives, two bricks, a sharpened stick, two candlesticks that probably belonged in the dining room, and a half dozen hairpins that Lady Juliana was probably missing. The younger boys had their share of weapons too. Jimmy had a needle he’d swiped from Lady Juliana’s sewing box, and Chester had taken a small pan from the kitchen.
By the time Neil disposed of or returned the items and inspected the boys’ chambers, it was noon and no one had eaten. He made his way to the parlor, through the now-empty entryway. The parlor door was open and an appetizing smell drifted from the kitchen. He stuck his head in the door, finding Lady Juliana with her head bent and a quill in her hand. She was writing quickly, her lip caught between her teeth as she worked.
Neil cleared his throat. She looked up at him and her cheeks flushed. Just as quickly, she looked down again. He would have bet she was remembering their shared kiss.
“What is it, Mr. Wraxall?”
She was all business, but Neil wasn’t put off. Something about the sight of her with her copper hair spilling over one shoulder and that full lip between her small, even teeth made him want to kiss her again.
“I wondered how the interviews had gone, and the boys wondered when they might eat.”
Her head popped up. “Oh no! They haven’t eaten at all this morning, have they?” She rose, dropping her quill. “How could I have forgotten?”
Neil raised a hand. “I’ve kept them busy in their rooms, but as the weather is still unfit for travel, I haven’t been able to go out and procure any foodstuffs. Does that appetizing smell mean you hired a new cook?”
“Yes, a Mrs. Koch. Appropriate, isn’t it? Her husband fought in the Colonial War, and after his death, she settled in England. She has nine grown children and is used to cooking for a crowd, so to speak.”
“She sounds perfect.”
“Yes. I’ll ask if she can have something ready for a noon meal.”
“Good. If you need me, I’ll be in the servants’ quarters. I have a project I’d like to begin.”
She frowned. “What sort of project?”
He felt like an idiot telling her he planned to build a cage for the pet rats. He should have been ordering her to release the rodents. But he knew she would refuse. The boys had become attached to the creatures, and they seemed harmless enough. “It’s a surprise for the boys. I’ll take Goring with me. If you would be so kind, send something down for us.”
“Very well.” She moved in front of the desk, looked toward the door, then leaned toward him as though telling a secret. “You are keeping an eye on Mr. Goring.”
“I don’t want Goring running to tell Slag what we’re up to.”
She furrowed her brow. “We aren’t up to anything.”
“I told you last night.” He moved closer, lowering his voice. “Slag will not touch you. I’ll bring several of my men to the musicale, and we will deal with Mr. Slag.”
“You plan to kill him?” She put her hand to her heart.
“There are worse fates than death. The prison hulks come to mind.”
“But—”
He held up a hand. “Leave it to me. And without Slag in command, his gang will falter. The last thing the men will care about is you or the orphanage. They will be too busy killing each other to determine the next arch rogue. You can go home.”
“I told you. This is my home now.”
Neil closed his eyes. Why had he gone to see his father? Why had he agreed to help St. Maur? It will take an afternoon, his father had said. A piece of cake for a man like you, his father had said. Neil, for one, would have been pleased never to set eyes on cake again.
“You cannot save this orphanage, Lady Juliana.”
“I beg to differ. You just said with Slag gone, the orphanage would be the least of the gang’s concerns.”
“Until there’s a new leader who takes an interest.”
“And then we will have our foodstuffs stolen again.”
Neil waved a hand. She still did not understand. “Turnips and flour are not the real valuables here.”
“Then what is? We have little else.”
“You’re wrong. You have a dozen boys who would make perfect thieves and pickpockets.”
“I won’t allow that to happen. When I came here, I vowed to keep these boys safe. I won’t let them go the way of so many of the former residents.”
“You cannot stop it. You are one woman against deadly criminals and impossible odds.”
Her gaze met his. “You faced death and impossible odds, and you came home a hero.”
“I came home a ghost. I should have died with the men I sent to their deaths.”
“Have you ever considered there’s a reason you survived? What if you were spared because I needed you? What if you lived to save these boys—bastards like you but just as deserving of a chance in this world?”
Neil felt cold seep through his veins. He was no hero. He was not the man to save these children, not the man Lady Juliana seemed to want him to be. “I have one mission, Lady Juliana, and that is to return you home.”
“I told you,” she said tightly. “I am home, and I will never give up on these boys or Sunnybrooke.”
Neil couldn’t help but admire her spirit, misguided as she was. She was stubborn and idealistic, a dangerous mixture. And one he couldn’t quite seem to resist.
Twelve
She didn’t know where Mr. Wraxall disappeared to after their conversation. He’d gone out in the rain and hadn’t returned by dinner. She and the boys had enjoyed a delicious meal together, and Julia had initially been happy it would be just her and the boys at dinner. It would be like old times again—before Wraxall had come.
Except it wasn’t.
The boys had talked of little else throughout dinner. No one could say enough about when Major had done this or when he’d said that or how he’d promised to build Matthew, Mark, and John a new enclosure. Julia had tried to steer the conversation away from Wraxall, but the attempt had been only halfhearted. The truth was that Sunnybrooke wasn’t the same without him. She didn’t know how that was possible when he’d only been there two days, but in that time, they’d all become used to him and come to rely upon him. Now, there was more than an empty chair where he usually sat. There was an empty spot in the boys’ hearts. In hers as well, though she told herself it was a small spot that could be easily filled.
The danger was in allowing the little piece of her heart he’d claimed to grow larger. She had to stop the attachment she felt from becoming any s
tronger. No more long conversations. No more nighttime eavesdropping. And no more kisses. Definitely no more kisses.
In that spirit, she’d tried not to think of him the rest of the evening as the boys had played games or listened to her read, then complained when she made them wash faces and brush teeth and climb into their beds—beds that had clean linen in rooms that were spotless.
But she would not think of that because noticing all of the changes would only lead to thoughts of Wraxall.
Finally, all the boys were tucked in. Julia checked with the new cook, who looked to have the kitchen in order and everything ready for the morning meal. Julia sent her to bed and told Mr. Goring he could retire. Part of Goring’s job was to lock all the windows and doors at night, but considering what she knew about Goring, she checked everything again. All was secure. Was it possible Wraxall had been wrong about Goring? After all, with the major away, now would have been the perfect time to send Mr. Slag word she was alone and vulnerable. But Goring had stayed close all evening and locked everything up tightly.
In fact, she was left with a dilemma. She was ready for bed, but Wraxall still had not returned. He’d given her no information as to where he’d gone or when he’d be back. She did not want to leave the door open, but neither did she want to lock him out. Finally, she decided she would give him until midnight. If he hadn’t returned by then, he was obviously not returning until the morrow. She built up the fire in the parlor and looked over correspondence and ledgers at her desk, but soon her eyes drooped and since she only had an hour until midnight, she decided to rest on the couch.
She opened her eyes what seemed like a moment later and screamed at the man standing above her. Before much more than a squeak left her lips, his hand came down and covered her mouth.
It was Slag, and he would kill her. Why hadn’t she locked the door?
“If you scream, you’ll wake the children.”
